


Early Winter in Delphi

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Melancholy, Wrong, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: From the BSG-Kink theme: hot or cold, prompt:Bill/Kara, she can't get warmNote: Kara's past child abuse is referenced here





	

Her mother’s words bit like shards of ice scraping against her very bones. She was following in her footsteps, but that one step too far into officer country had done it for Socrata, and Kara had finally cut herself loose from the diatribe she should have known to expect, walking out of the smoke-foul apartment and into the chill Delphi streets. Night was coming on, but the street lights and neon bar signs lit her way as she walked, fist shoved deep in her pockets and head down against the rising wind.  
  
Kara came to a stop at the old bridge, leaning against the railing and watching the sluggish water meander through the forming ice. The ice would win, in time, but the water kept pushing, barely visible in the moonlight, driven by currents unseen but strong.  
  
The man who joined her wore the same uniform she did, and his breath was whisky-warm as he struck up a conversation the way strangers do when they want to connect and dissemble at the same time. Some family place he was supposed to be, his transport cancelled for the night, didn’t know anyone in Delphi, would she join him for a drink?  
  
Neither mentioned the Colonial Fleet as they walked to the bar closest to the bridge. They talked about the last Pyramid game, the early winter this year…anything but the pilot wings on both their chests, the pips that marked him as a high-ranking officer.  
  
He looked like he’d run hot, from the tone of his skin and the bulk of him. And she was right; when they’d stumble-walked to his hotel, when he’d tentatively kissed her, waves of heat radiated off him, and his cock was wonderfully warm against her palm when she slid her hand under his pants and down his belly.  
  
He’d started to say something, probably how they shouldn’t do this, or worse, some stupid compliment, and she kissed him hard, her tongue silencing his words and stoking their heat. His slightly faded duty blues mingled on the floor with her bright new uniform as they tumbled onto the bed. He was old enough that he could have served with her mother, and the wrongness made her eyes blaze like fire in the darkness.

His fingers were too gentle on her inner thigh. She grabbed his hand and guided him to the harder touch she wanted, balancing on her knees over him. He growled his recognition of her need and jammed two fingers deep inside, thumb strumming over her clit, his other hand dragging her downward until his lips and teeth found her breasts. Kara arched and grabbed a fistful of hair, letting the shivery sensations wash over her a second before raising her ass and letting him guide his cock to her entrance. She slammed down hard enough to make them both groan through gritted teeth, then straightened, flexing into a smooth rhythmic ride.  
  
His hips bucked hard up against her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, then caught herself and pulled back, settling her palms on his thick chest. She’d seen the ring on his hand. She didn’t want to hear him caution her about leaving bruises. Not tonight.  
  
The first orgasm was light and whispery, enough to count but nothing memorable. Then his broad hands splayed over her hips and he turned them together, not stopping until she was under him and his pelvis was grinding against her clit with every rough thrust. His frakking had become a wild pounding, and “frakked through the mattress” came to her mind. Her mouth curved against his shoulder at that, then her second climax hit, unexpected and shattering.  
  
She bit hard into the skin over his collarbone, no longer caring whether she marked him or not, then screamed against him, his dog-tags swinging against her open mouth. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, holding tight while he rode out his finish, his hands locked with hers over her head. He spilled hot inside her, his lips settling against her jaw, murmuring words she couldn’t make out.  
  
The man’s dog tags mingled with hers as he rolled onto his back and tugged her into his arms. She looked away as passing headlights raked the room and lit up the bits of brass. She was cooling off, inside and out, and she’d be slipping back into her uniform as soon as she heard the first snore. She didn’t want to see the name cut into his tags, or him to see hers. Best that they forgot this ever happened.  
  
There was still a rime of ice in her soul, jagged and sharp, but his heat had stirred the currents against it; not enough to last, but enough to suggest a spring thaw was not out of the question. She could put her history behind her, open herself to what might be waiting for her at her posting at the flight school.  
  
Her own dog tags swung against her skin when she rose, already cold again.

 

**CODA**

 

Zak had been in the ground a day and a night and another day when it finally came up. Commander Adama had focused his eyes at the bottom of his glass when she'd said where she was from. She suspected what was coming, had been dreading this moment since the numbness ebbed.  
  
It couldn't be. His shoulders were too sloped, his stance on the edge of defeated. No way.  
  
_He just buried his son, Kara. Think that might have something to do with it?_  
  
She looked at her own drink. His sense of duty was leading them to a place neither needed to be. _Gods damn these Adama men._ She steeled herself against his mention of a woman he met once, there in Delphi, looked a lot like her. It had been late fall, winter already setting in early.  
  
Kara shrugged, tossed off a comment about missing that cold snap, must've been while she was on Picon, last chance to beach-bum before school started. Then, because there was something about this man she respected, and the first threads of loyalty were twining with her pushed-away guilt, she said the last words she'd ever say on the matter.  
  
_And I never met a man on the bridge over the river._  
  
Their eyes met, a silent agreement between them to bury what might have happened in Delphi as deep as they'd buried Zak. When their glasses touched,the sound was sharp as icicles breaking off the edge of a roof.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to singerdiva01_sk for suggesting that there was more to the story, which led to the finishing touch of the coda  
> Also, although the date here is 2017, this was first posted on LJ July 2014.


End file.
